XVII.
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
AT THE END OF THE HORIZON
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
You go on living
at the end of the horizon.
You move beneath the sky
that kisses the steeples of churches,
ardent angels, and the medieval rooftops.
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
You are farther away
than my dreams can reach.
I nestle in the arms of your memory,
embrace your absence
as if it were a lover.
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
I walk down the road bearing your name,
restlessly dream of kissing your face
beneath the stars and the wide-eyed moon.
I am the compass
that measures distance, that aches and aches
for distance to be conquered.
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
Oh lie with me again,
tell me of how the night is dangerous,
of how we need to suck poison
out of one another, so that we may truly live.
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
The oceans cry because we are apart,
and the sky is rended by the wings of gulls.
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
We burned the night away,
set it on fire and watched it burn.
Then we filled the charred silence
with our pleasured voices.
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
Passionate hours, hours of sweetness,
hours of disappearing delicacy and coarse refinements:
we lived them
within the compass of one another.
![](imgs/spacer.gif)
Where are you tonight, Isabella,
in whose arms do you lie dreaming?
|